


Every Flammable Thing

by tealbrigade



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: But they're still British, Firewatch au, First Meetings, Inspired by Firewatch (Video Game), M/M, Simon never went to Watford, Strangers to Lovers, The Mage continues to be terrible, We out here in America, based on Firewatch but no spoilers for the game I promise, baz is an artist and simon's writing a book, because reasons, set a couple of years after the end of Carry On, that's not important to the plot really but I want you to know that, working in a national forest, you should play it though it's a good time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29451870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tealbrigade/pseuds/tealbrigade
Summary: Simon Snow has been on the run since he defeated the Humdrum, and he figures that if the middle of a national forest in Wyoming isn't far enough, no place is. He's taken a post as a firewatch, and his job is to sit in his tower and watch for fires. Most importantly, there's no contact with anyone in the outside world—except his supervisor via radio. It seems like a perfect escape.Though, his supervisor just so happens to be one Baz Pitch, who's been hiding out in the Shoshone National Forest for a while now.Trouble has a way of following Simon around, though, and before long Simon and Baz begin to suspect that something sinister is afoot in the Shoshone. They're not supposed to have any contact with each other outside their radios, but fate may have other plans.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 12
Kudos: 31





	1. The Welcome Committee

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to this Firewatch AU! The concept of this game has stuck with me since I played it, so I wanted to write our boys into the story. 
> 
> The only background knowledge you need is this: despite being the Mage's Heir, in this one, Simon was still barred from attending Watford, so he and Baz never actually met there. Simon still visited the Mage at the school sometimes, though, and still befriended Ebb. Magic's still a thing and Simon's confrontation with the Humdrum went down like in canon with Simon giving away his magic.
> 
> Also, despite using the concept and setting of Firewatch, the plot's going to take a different route than the game, so no worries about spoilers if you ever plan on playing it (which I recommend).
> 
> The whole story is already written, so we'll update every Sunday til it's done :)
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!

_ // Day 1 _

The hike was brutal, but Simon was used to pushing his limits. It came with the territory.

Summer in America was much less pleasant than in England. It was so blasted  _ hot.  _ But the sunlight coming through the trees felt cleaner, somehow. Maybe he was just projecting. Maybe he just wanted the harsh American sun to burn away all the awful things he was carrying with him.

_ The Chosen One. The Greatest Mage. Our salvation. That’s you, Simon. _

Day faded into night, and for the first time on this expedition, he was grateful he tended to run a little warm. He’d underestimated how far away everything was here, so his nighttime campsite was just him laying on the ground with his head resting on his backpack, hoping a bear didn’t come by and decide it wanted a snack.

_ An explosion in his chest. Blacking out and not knowing who he’d hurt. The smell of smoke that would never go away. If that’s being the Greatest Mage—I don’t know if I wanna be him. _

The next morning he got up, dusted off his clothes as best as he could, and carried on. About midday, he finally came upon the lookout tower he’d be spending his summer hiding in.

Not hiding, he told himself. Just...getting away for a bit.

_ You were broken, and I didn’t realize...I can fix it. I can still fix it, Simon. Let me fix it. Let me fix you. _

He trudged up the creaky wooden steps, up and around until he reached the top and let himself into the little cabin. He took it in with an uncomfortable mix of excitement and apprehension roiling around in his stomach. It was one open room, a cot wedged in one corner, a pantry and camp stove in the other, a desk beneath a window, and a weird circular fixture in the dead center. Every wall was a window, and from up here, Simon had a breathtaking view of the Shoshone National Forest stretching out for miles in all directions.

Simon dumped his backpack onto the cot, somewhat regretting the decision to pack the typewriter Penny had gifted him for his birthday. His therapist had suggested he start writing as a way to process things, and Penny had (of course) gone above and beyond. It was beautiful, and he loved it, and it was heavy as all hell. 

Oh well. It was up here, and so was he.

As he walked the perimeter of the room, sussing out where some extra bedding or food could possibly be—the single sheet and jar of who-knows-how-old-peanut butter he found probably weren’t going to cut it—he caught a crackle of sound.

“...rks, come in. Two Forks, come in.”

It was a man’s voice, and it took Simon by surprise until he realized that  _ he _ was the Two Forks lookout, spun around and noticed a little handheld radio in a cradle on the desk. 

“Helloooo, Two Forks. I can see you over there. Pick up.”

Simon fumbled with the radio, hastily jamming his thumb over the speak button. “Uh...hello. Two Forks here.”

“Ah, he does speak.” The voice was wry, and Simon rolled his eyes. “Welcome aboard. How was the hike?”

“Long and hot,” Simon replied. “But I wasn’t eaten by a bear, so all’s well, I suppose.”

“Ah, you’re not going to be eaten by a bear. They don’t hang out in your sector much.” 

Simon hadn’t had much human contact the last few days, so it took him a moment to dawn on him that the voice on the other end of the radio was distinctly British. Which seemed odd, here in the States. “I’m assuming you’re an expert on the area, then.”

“Well,” came the voice on the radio, “I have been doing this for a while. I’d be bad at my job if I wasn’t a bit of an expert by now.

“Somebody’s quite confident in himself, hmm.”

“I have no reason not to be.”

Simon had the habit of pacing around while he spoke on the phone—and this was basically the same concept, innit?—and he wandered over to the window facing...whichever direction. He’d figure that out later. For now he was tired and talking to someone who didn’t already know him.

“So who are you, exactly?” Simon asked, leaning his free hand on the windowsill and taking in the view. “Besides the expert on the area, of course.”

That earned Simon a chuckle. It was a nice laugh, if a bit cut off. “I’m the lookout up at Thorofare,” the voice said. “Look due north and you just might spot me.”

“I can’t see shit. How is it you can see me?”

“Binoculars, obviously.”

“Oi, that’s a bit creepy, if you ask me.”

“It’s not creepy to want to know what my coworker looks like.”

“We could just, I dunno, visit each other?” Simon suggested.

He could practically hear Thorofare’s head shaking. “Not how it works, I’m afraid. We stick to our sectors. You need something, you radio me, and I call it in to HQ. Besides, it’s a several hours-long hike out here. You don’t need to see me that bad.”

“Okay…” Simon glanced around at his little cabin, the room that would be his home for the next few months, perched atop the trees that would be his office. “So. The job.”

“You did get briefed before they set you loose out here, right?”

This guy was going to drive Simon crazy on the first day. “Of course they did,” he replied. “Just curious what the so-called expert would have to say on the matter. You seem to have opinions on many things.”

A huff laced with static on the radio. “It’s really quite simple,” Thorofare said as if speaking to a toddler. “You sit in your tower. You watch for a fire.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. You see the big circular thing in the center of your room? That’s a fire finder. You can use that to figure out the coordinates of any fire you spot.”

“And if I spot one, I let you know?”

“Correct.”

“And then what?”

“And then,” Thorofare said, “we let the fire brigade handle it. Our part’s done.”

“...seems deceptively simple,” Simon muttered, studying the fire finder contraption. It didn’t seem obvious how to operate it, but he figured there’d be some guidebook somewhere around here. Or maybe the bloke on the other end of the line could help him out.

“What’s your name, anyway?” Simon asked. “Can’t keep calling you ‘that other guy’ all the time.”

A small pause. “My name is Basil.”

“Like the herb?”

That earned Simon a sigh. “Like the herb. Though I go by Baz, mostly.”

“Baz,” Simon repeated. Simple enough. “Good to meet you, then, Baz. I’m Simon Snow.”

“...Your last name is  _ Snow _ ? Seriously?”

Simon bit his lip. Snow was his  _ middle _ name, but he wasn’t about to let this British bloke know that, not on the off chance that…

He was trying to escape his last name, and everything it stood for. Everything he wanted to leave behind.

_ Ebb’s staff broken on the floor. Blood everywhere. Her eyes, so kind and full of gentleness for him, glazed and unseeing. And  _ his  _ voice, saying “I had no choice, Simon, but I can still fix this…” _

“Just Snow,” he said. “Bugger off, plant boy.”

“Okay, okay, no need to get testy.” Baz sounded unruffled and unconcerned, so Simon figured he must have played that off cool enough. Maybe. “Well, Snow, there’s not much that needs doing today. Get settled in and get some rest. We’ll start bright and early tomorrow.”

“Works for me,” Simon said. Then his stomach rumbled, and he hoped it wasn’t so obnoxious that Baz had heard it over the radio. “Er, Baz? I don’t suppose you know where a bloke could get a meal around here?”

That got him a proper laugh. “There’s a supply drop box a couple miles away from you,” Baz said, “but I don’t think that’s going to help you right now, since the next drop off isn't for another day. Surely you have something there to tide you over?”

Simon eyed the lone peanut butter jar with suspicion. “No, I don’t think I do.”

“Well, so much for resting. They gave you a map of your sector before sending you out, right? Look for the little yellow icon that says Cache 374. You should find something in there to get you by until a proper resupply.”

“374...374, got it,” Simon replied, finding the little dot on the map. It didn’t seem to be that far away; he should be able to pop over and grab it before nightfall. “I’ll go do that, then.”

“Careful out there,” Baz said, his tone serious. “There might be a bear out there.”

“Really now? I heard they don’t tend to hang out in this sector.”

“Suit yourself.” There was a pause as Simon grabbed his pack again, decidedly lighter now that there wasn’t a whole-ass typewriter in it. Then Baz added, “Welcome to the Shoshone Firewatch, Simon Snow.”


	2. “I See Sparks Fly”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It ain’t much, but it’s honest work.” Also, terrible tourists, a bit of Taylor Swift, and sketchy people wandering around after dark.

_ // Day 4 _

“All I’m saying,” Simon insisted around a mouthful of granola, “is that a couple of scones every now and then wouldn’t hurt.”

“And again,” came Baz’s voice over the radio, “ _ perishables _ , Snow.”

“What, you mean to tell me there’s not, like, a scone mix you can just toss some water into? These hiker types have figured everything  _ else _ out—“

“You are going to be absolutely insufferable this summer, aren’t you?”

Now that Simon wasn’t distracted by his lack of food or various how-tos from Baz, he was beginning to realize just how boring this job was really going to be. They weren’t kidding when they said he’d just sit around in a tower all day watching for fire that might not ever happen.

Well, obviously, no one  _ wanted  _ a fire to break out in summer in a national forest. But clearly the risk was there, or Simon and Baz and Crowley knew how many other lookouts would be scattered around out here in the wilderness.

He’d slept twice as long as normal on that first night, then went out to collect his proper supply drop (the cache he’d found on his first day had only a box of protein bars of dubious freshness). As Baz had warned, it was a proper hike that took the rest of the day. Things that looked so close on the map could be deceiving, since there was topography to contend with and Simon frequently forgot about that detail. 

The previous day was a crash course in tools, procedures, flora and fauna, and general wilderness survival. Simon was pretty sure he’d need refreshers if anything came up, because none of that information really stuck the first time.

But the hiking he could handle. He was used to constantly running around, facing who knows what threat, swinging his sword with reckless abandon. He certainly had the stamina to handle the trails of the Shoshone. 

Two Forks lookout, Simon’s charge and his home base, was nestled in a copse of aspen trees that bordered on a rocky crag. A small stream ran nearby, which was about as close to a shower as he was going to have for the next few months. Simon didn’t mind; he’d never been big on excessive baths or skincare products anyway, and there was something rather wholesome about sticking his hands in a wild stream and letting the cold water rinse away the grime of the day.

There was a little outhouse shack a few paces from the base of the lookout tower, and several tanks of propane for his stove lived in a lean-to next to it. It was a rugged life. He’d commented on it to Baz, who had smugly informed him that Thorofare lookout came equipped with its own proper bathroom. “That’s what seniority gets you, Snow.”

Simon liked Two Forks. The views were beautiful, the work was straightforward, and he had time to sit with his own thoughts and breathe. He’d spent so long running here and there doing this or that, never slowing, never stopping, never thinking. 

It was unfamiliar, the stillness here, but Simon thought he rather liked it.

Besides, with Baz (or at least his voice) around, it wasn’t lonely. The two had taken to striking up random conversations throughout their days, usually after Simon needed to ask a question about some procedure or another. Most often, the conversation consisted of Simon saying something and Baz sassing him over it. He didn’t mind. 

“Eh, I won’t be insufferable  _ all  _ summer,” Simon went on. “Only the parts when I’m talking to you.”

“Oh, right, because the rest of the time you’ll be over there writing the next Great American Novel or whatever.”

“Pretty sure you have to be American to qualify for that.”

“I  _ was  _ wondering about that accent.”

“Lived in London for a few years,” Simon confirmed. It wasn’t a lie; he may have spent his time around Watford, but being barred from the school meant the Mage had to keep him at arms’ length. And the city was a good enough place to hide for a while. 

But not forever. No hiding place goes unnoticed forever. 

“Ah, a city boy, huh,” Baz replied. “I’m from the British countryside, myself.”

“So how do a couple of blokes from across the pond end up in the middle of nowhere, Wyoming?”

Baz was silent for a beat. “Running as far away as possible, I suppose. There isn’t much of a reason to take this job otherwise.”

That caught Simon off guard. Baz talked like he’d been doing this for years; surely he did something with the parts of the year he wasn’t up in a lookout tower. Surely he had a  _ life  _ to get back to. 

“Sounds about right,” Simon murmured in response. 

He heard an inhale and braced himself, sure that Baz was about to question Simon’s reasons for being here. But what came across the radio was not a question, but a string of expletives. 

“What the...oh,  _ fuck. Seriously?” _

“Uh, Baz?”

“Snow, take a peek out to the northeast. Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

Simon took a minute to orient himself, then scanned the horizon. Surely there wasn’t a fire already? But then he heard the whine and pop of fireworks, saw the sparks burst against the orange sunset sky. “Fireworks,” he said unnecessarily. 

“Fireworks,” Baz repeated, scorn in his voice. “Damn tourists. Do they not pay attention to the fire risk signs plastered everywhere?”

“Clearly not.”

“Ugh. All right, get down there then.”

“Wait, what? Me?”

“Yes, you. No sense in waiting for a fire to happen if we can prevent it. Besides, it looks like it’s coming from your sector, over by the lake. Go figure out who it is and put a stop to it.”

“Uh,” Simon stammered, “W-what am...what am I supposed to do about it?”

“I don’t care,” Baz replied, spitting out his words. Simon had to consciously remind himself that Baz wasn’t mad at  _ him  _ in the face of that venom. “Yell at them. Kick them out of the park. Steal their shit. Whatever it takes.”

“Okay, okay, Christ. I’m on it.” Simon grumbled as he grabbed his things and set out down the tower stairs.

He’d wandered around a bit in the few days since he’d been in Shoshone, but he hadn’t yet made it over to the lake. Simon skipped the last couple of steps at the bottom to jump the rest of the way down, and when his feet hit solid ground, he pulled out his compass and map and set off. 

Jonesy Lake wasn’t a terribly far hike. Still, by the time he left grassy fields behind for rocky hills, the sun was beginning its descent in earnest, tinging the whole area in vermillion. He climbed over some boulders and came upon a small campsite just before the wooded path to the lake proper. A trail of empty beer cans led the way forward, and in the distance, Simon could just make out the beat of some pop song or another. For now, the sound of fireworks seemed to have died off.

Simon kicked one of the beer cans and pulled out his radio. “Not just pyros,” he muttered, “but litterers, too. I’ve got the feeling whoever’s up to this is right sloshed right now.”

“Great. Just what we need are a couple of drunkards running around with flammable objects.” Baz huffed. “Well, carry on.”

Simon did. He followed the aluminum can trail, picking them up as stowing them away to trash properly later. Soon, as he ducked under tree branches and wove around the trail to the lake, he spotted some new things littering the ground.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What was that, Snow?”

He’d left his finger on the talk button. “Uh,” Simon replied, heat rising to his cheeks that had nothing to do with the summer evening.

“Use your words, Snow.”

“They’re, ah. Looks like these girls stripped for a dive in the lake.” He nudged a discarded bra with his shoe.

Baz actually laughed at him. “What, don’t tell me you’re getting all flustered over some underwear.”

“Oh, stuff it,” Simon muttered, moving on. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t be embarrassed if it was you down here.”

“I mean, I’m incredibly gay, so I can’t say I would be.”

Simon paused. “Huh.”

“Don’t get homophobic on me now, Snow; we were getting along so well.”

“Hush, you,” Simon hissed. He’d come up out of the trees onto the lake shore. A boom box to his left was blasting that same song (was it Taylor Swift? Hell if Simon knew), and out in the lake he could just make out two silhouettes. They were whooping and hollering in joy, slashing around. On the shore, nearly pulled away by the lapping water were a few more articles of clothing, a six pack of the same beer Simon had found earlier, and a pile of fireworks. “Well, I’ll just be taking those.”

“I gotta say, Snow, I thought you were a more decent sort.”

“The fireworks, you dolt. I’m taking the fireworks.”

“Ah. Good call.”

Simon released his vice grip on the radio, preventing Baz from catching just how he was about to tear into these tourists. He stepped up to the lakeshore, just short of getting his shoes wet, and yelled, “Oi! You out there!”

The girls squealed in surprise. He couldn’t make out their features or anything, but they must have turned to see him, because one of them started screaming, “Hey, what the fuck, you pervert!”

“I’m not—“

The protest died on Simon’s lips as the other girl chimed in with “Were you  _ watching  _ us, creep?”

“You were shooting off fireworks in a national forest!” Simon hollered back. “In the most flammable season!”

“Oh, whatever, killjoy! Creep!”

The two girls just kept yelling profanities at him, and Simon could feel the frustration about to bubble over. He stomped over to the boom box, the loud, obnoxious thing, hoisted it over his head, and hurled it into the lake as hard as he could.

“Hey! What the fuck, man?!”

“Pack your shit and get out of here,” Simon yelled. “And try not to start any fires on the way out!”

They continued yelling, but as far as Simon was concerned, his job was done. He followed the path back the way he came, and radioed Baz again.

“Okay, mission accomplished,” he said. “Fireworks: confiscated. Culprits: yelled at.” Simon hesitated. “Boom box: waterlogged.”

“You’re a goddamn hero, Snow.”

“I’m still sensing a bit of hostility, there, Baz.”

A sigh. “I apologize. This kind of thing just...really pisses me off. But I guess it’s the shit that means we have a job, so.”

“Way to look at the bright side of things.”

As Simon hiked back to his tower, the sun finally dipped below the horizon, and the light bled away from the scenery. He kind of wished he’d thought to bring a flashlight; definitely something to keep on hand from now on. 

He had this thought just as he was passing under a small cliff, and a beam of light suddenly shone into his eyes, blinding him. “Shit—what the—“

Shielding his eyes, Simon looked up just in time to see a human figure disappear over the rocks, leaving him to blink as his vision readjusted to the nighttime.

“Snow? What’s happening over there?”

“Uh, Baz,” he replied, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “I think someone was out here following me. Nearly blinded me, too.”

The radio crackled with Baz’s silence for a moment. “You know, Snow,” he said slowly, seriously. “There’s something about this job you should know.”

“Baz?” Simon feared the worst. “What is it?”

“It’s  _ outdoors,” _ Baz finally said solemnly. “In a  _ public park.” _

“Oh, you’re the fucking worst,” Simon growled as Baz started laughing hard. “I’m out here getting the shit scared out of me, and you’re cracking jokes.”

He sounded like he was laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe. “You make it awfully easy, Snow,” Baz said, and Simon wanted to be annoyed with him, but, well. It was a nice laugh.

“Wanker,” Simon muttered, but there was no venom in it.

The rest of the walk back to Two Forks was uneventful. Night had fallen properly now, and overhead the stars shone brightly, brighter than any sky Simon had ever seen in London. Or Watford, for that matter. The sight made him feel both insignificant and small, and Simon reveled in the normalcy of that.

No pressure. No expectations. Just being alive under the veil of stars.

_ He said we’d be stars. _

Simon breathed deep, putting that out of his mind. He was Simon Snow, and he was not the chosen one.

He was just a boy, doing small and vital work under the canopy of trees.

And that felt more correct than being the Mage’s Heir ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me over on Twitter [@tealbrigade](http://www.twitter.com/tealbrigade/), or on my (newly revived) Tumblr [ tea-brigade](http://www.tea-brigade.tumblr.com/) :)


	3. Saboteurs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Communication errors, painting word pictures, zero-star reviews, and mementos gone missing. They didn't cover any of this in homeschool.

_ // Day 5 _

“Up and at ‘em, Snow. We’ve got a problem.”

Simon had more or less gotten used to waking up before the crack of dawn, but still Baz’s voice over the radio pulled him out of a pleasant rest, and he groaned, swiping at the radio like he would to snooze an alarm clock.

Grabbing it without getting off his cot, Simon mumbled into the radio, “Already? I just solved a problem yesterday.”

“Tragically, our issues do not adhere to the schedule of your beauty rest.”

Sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with his free hand, Simon bit back a yawn as he asked, “All right, then, what is it now?”

“We’ve got a communication line down,” Baz said. “Tried to get a report to HQ this morning, but couldn’t get through. Looks like it’s the tower over in your sector.”

“Of course it is,” Simon muttered. “Let me guess, it’s up to me to go find it and fix it?”

“Oh, he catches on fast. You’ll be a pro at this in no time, Snow.”

“Bully for me.”

Still, this is what he’d signed up for, so he stretched and got up and got ready as best as he could. Baz gave him the location of the communication line, Simon marked it on his map, and he was off. 

Today’s quest took Simon in the opposite direction of the lake from yesterday. He had to set up some anchors and rope for a rappel off the side of a steep drop, then wound his way along a stream back up into hilly territory. The sun was bright and its light was dappled through the trees, and a cool breeze wafted by every few minutes. Simon caught some birdsong in the trees, but he wasn’t sure what kind made those noises. Still, it just added to the picturesque atmosphere, and perhaps Simon kept his pace just a bit slower than normal to take it all in. 

“Hey, Snow.”

“Hmm?”

“What do you look like?”

Simon tripped on the knob of a tree root. “Uh, why?”

“Well, you’re out there traipsing in the wilderness, and writing your book or whatever. I’m stuck over here with nothing better to do than draw things.”

“Oh, an artist, huh? Needing some new source material?”

“I can only draw the trees outside my window so many times before I go absolutely mad, so yes.”

“Fair enough.” Simon grinned, though Baz couldn’t see it over the airwaves. “I’ll tell you what I look like only if you return the favor.”

Baz was silent for a moment and Simon briefly worried if he’d spooked him. But Baz just huffed and replied, “Fine.”

“Brilliant. All right then…” He considered, feeling strangely self-conscious. “Uh, okay. Kinda average height, I guess. Pretty built, like, I spent a lot of time running around and getting into fights, so gotta be pretty fit for that. Uh…”

“Crowley, Snow, what sort of shit are you running from?” Baz muttered, but Simon ignored his aside and kept going while he still had the nerve.

“Brown hair, real curly on top, but I keep it shaved on the sides and back in the summer. Uh, lots of freckles. Some moles. Blue eyes.” He trailed off. “I think that’s about it?”

Baz didn’t immediately respond, so Simon just kept walking. He’d left the stream behind him, and he could spot the long cables of power lines in the distance. The line he was investigating must be close.

He opened his mouth to say something about that, but Baz spoke back up before he had the chance. “Okay. I think I’ve got something here that I assume resembles you. So, since an Englishman’s word is his bond…”

Simon arrived at the line, and it was clearly down, a mess of thick metal cable and splintered wood coating the ground. As Simon picked his way carefully over the mess, Baz continued speaking.

“Just over six feet. Black hair, nearly down to my shoulders. My mother’s family was Egyptian, so a darker complexion, but not too much thanks to my father’s influence. I played football in school, so take that as you will. Grey eyes.” A pause. “I suppose that’s it.”

Simon tried to paint that picture in his mind, but he knew that it fell flat to whatever the reality of Baz was. Still, he’d make do. “Well, I hope you got a decent bit of art out of that,” he said, unusually aware of keeping his voice light and level. “Because we may be in the dark awhile. I found the line.”

“Ugh. How bad is it?”

“It looks like the whole thing was smashed up. There wasn’t a storm last night we missed, right?”

“It was clear as a bell.”

“Yeah, I thought so...wait.” Simon found the end of the cable, or rather, the middle of a cable that was now split into two. Gingerly, he picked up one end, belatedly hoping it wasn’t electrically charged or anything.

The edge of the cable was barely frayed, a clean cut. A deliberate one.

“Uh, Baz?” Simon gulped. “I think we’ve been a bit sabotaged. This thing is cut clean down the middle.”

_ “What?” _

While Baz sputtered on the other end of the line, Simon cast his gaze around, looking for any sort of clue. There, amidst the wreckage, a flash of unnatural white. He picked his way over there and retrieved what turned out to be a slip of paper with writing on it.

“Ah,” Simon muttered into the radio. “Delightful.”

“What? Did you find something?”

“Found a note. From the culprit, I’d assume.” He cleared his throat and began to read.

_ “This is for spying on us yesterday, you creep. Good luck telling your disgusting buddies what you saw. It’s not even a nice park”— _ “okay, that’s unnecessary…”— _ “and we’re never coming back if you’re the type who patrols it. Good riddance.” _

Simon squinted at the bottom of the paper. “They actually signed their names. Not entirely smart, isn’t it?”

“Are you telling me,” Baz said, and Simon could practically see him rubbing his temples in frustration and disbelief, “that we’re cut off from HQ because of a couple of petty teenagers?”

“That seems to sum it up, yeah.” Simon looked from the note back down at the carnage. Then he frowned. “How’d they even know this was here?”

“It’s a fairly obvious structure, Snow. I’m sure they’re not  _ that _ stupid.”

“No, yeah, but…” he trailed off, searching for the right words. “Like, this specific line. The one that keeps us in contact with whoever.  _ That’s  _ the one they know to cut. And how’d they even cut it? This thing is serious work…”

He trailed off, noticing Baz’s silence on the matter. “Baz?”

“I’m thinking.” A sigh. “Those are good observations, Snow. I don’t know. In the meantime, does it look fixable?’

“Mate, you’re asking me if I know how to fix a severed power cable? Have to go with a strong  _ no.  _ Didn’t exactly cover that in my homeschooling.”

“Okay, well, I’ll try to radio over to Elm Fork or Deer Creek and see if they can get a message up. Ridiculous game of telephone, but…” Another sigh. “Nothing to be done, then.”

Simon made the trek back to Two Forks in silence. The scenery that seemed so beautiful before seemed more sinister as evening fell and shadows stretched. It was silly to think that anything nefarious was waiting to ambush him or something, but Simon kept his attention on his surroundings and his pace quick.

As his tower came into view, Baz’s voice came over the radio. “Okay, they’re going to send a team out to repair the line. We should be good in a couple days or so.”

“That’s good. If we can’t talk to headquarters, they won’t get our snack requests for the next supply drop.”

“You really only think about food, don’t you?”

Simon laughed. “Well, it beats thinking about a lot of other things. At least my snack habits I can control.”

“As opposed to things out of your control?”

“Yeah.” Simon paused at the foot of the stairs up to his tower for a breather before beginning the climb. “Coming out here...that was the first choice I’ve made for myself in a long time, I think. Maybe ever.”

Baz didn’t respond. Simon climbed the stairs. “Sorry, Baz. That sounds kinda sad, huh.”

“Not at all. I...think I understand.”

Simon wanted him to elaborate on that, but as he rounded the corner to his cabin, his attention was grabbed by the broken glass scattered on the wood planks. He jogged over, conversation momentarily forgotten.

His door was ajar, and the section of the window next to it was completely shattered. Inside, the entire place had been ransacked—his cot overturned, a sheet missing; desk drawers pulled out and paper scattered everywhere; even his pantry wasn’t spared, cans and boxes knocked over onto the floor. 

For a minute, all Simon could do was stare. 

“Snow? Still there? I asked—“

“They broke in.”

“...what?”

“Somebody smashed my window and broke in. Tore the place apart. I—“

His gaze settled on the corner of the desk, to the spot next to the typewriter (thank god they didn’t take the typewriter). Simon’s hand flew to his neck, and if it wasn’t on the desk and if he wasn’t wearing it—

“Shit,” he muttered, proper dread curling in his stomach. “No, no, no, they took— _ shit!” _

“Snow, what’s gone? Take a breath and talk to me.”

Finally worn out, Simon slumped to the floor in defeat. “My cross. A necklace. It was given to be by a friend before she…before she died. I didn’t put it on this morning, and it’s gone.”

“What? Oh, Snow…”

Simon didn’t hear whatever Baz was saying next, because his mind was already racing ahead of him. Replaying Ebb’s death, over and over, his hand reaching out too late, too late to do anything but watch her die—

Watch the man who was the closest thing he had to a father step over her body, reaching toward him—

Seeing Ebb sitting in her field, smiling up at him, beckoning him over, the only person who didn’t care what he could  _ do  _ but who he  _ was— _

Simon inhaled a shaky breath.  _ Remember where you are now, Simon.  _ “Um. There were some spare boards down below. I’m gonna board this window up, and then…”

“Simon?”

Hearing his name brought him back fully to the present. “Baz?”

“...I’m sorry.”

Simon couldn’t find it within himself to reply, but he was able to exhale just a little deeper.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Baz.”

“All right. Good night, Snow.”

“...good night.”

On autopilot, Simon trudged back down the steps, gathered the boards he needed, and got to work. When he felt like this, only movement, only doing, actually helped. When the window was covered and the door secured once more, he locked himself in his tower. By now, the sun had disappeared below the horizon, and he’d used the last of the fading light to work. Now all was dark and quiet, lit only by the moon and a flickering of stars.

He picked up the place as best as he could, futilely hoping he’d find the cross merely kicked under something, hidden among the wreckage. But it was well and truly gone.

_ Of all the things to take, why that? _

It wasn’t impressive, by any means. A simple silver cross strung on a chain. He recalled the day Ebb gave it to him. Simon had been barred from actually attending Watford—he wondered how much more he could have done if he’d actually been able to properly learn how to use his magic—but he still spent time there, going from the Mage’s office to mission after mission. 

One day he’d just needed to get away from it all, and he’d found himself wandering in the fields, and he’d stumbled upon the goatherd. Ebb had been crying—she did that a lot, but Simon didn’t mind, she just seemed more genuine—and he’d sat with her until her tears were dry, and she listened to his problems. He’d made a point to visit her frequently after that. She was the only person at Watford other than the Mage who actually knew him, and Simon kept that a secret from the Mage himself.

It was shortly before her own demise that Simon had visited for Christmas, and she’d spoken about the brother she’d lost. The cross had been given to her after that, she’d told him. “But I don’t have much use for it, honestly. Supposed to ward off vampires, well, what do I care about that? But it might come in handy for you, Simon, with all the gallantry you’re out and up to.”

It was a gift from a dear friend, her last act of kindness to him before she died. And now it was gone.

Simon sat on his cot, in the Two Forks lookout tower, in the Shoshone National Forest of Wyoming, United States. He never did find that sheet. But he sat there anyway, lost in thought, back in England years ago.

In its cradle on the desk, the radio was silent—whether because Baz didn’t know what to say, or merely out of respect of his loss, Simon didn’t know.

But he was grateful for the quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Sorry Simon you're doing amazing sweetie)
> 
> Thanks for reading! I hope you're enjoying the fic so far, things be happening now 👀 
> 
> Find me on Twitter [@tealbrigade](http://www.twitter.com/tealbrigade/) or on tumblr at[ tea-brigade](http://www.tea-brigade.tumblr.com/), and/or jam to [this fic's playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/21eiUwxWeHmOs69T1oJz51?si=MAGya8BRR_qQqXiswixI8A) because I have no chill.


	4. Things Left Behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A ghost of the past, the cryptids of Wyoming, Return (?) of the Teens, and ethically questionable decisions.

_ // Night 9 _

“Simon?”

“Ebb, I’m so sorry.”

“What do you have to be sorry for?”

“The cross. Your cross. I lost it. I’m so sorry. I thought I could find it, but I can’t.”

“Simon.”

“You gave it to me because you cared, because you thought it would protect me. And then  _ you  _ protected me, and you were killed for it, Ebb. And now I’ve lost the last thing you ever gave me. I don’t know what to do, Ebb. I don’t know what to do.”

“Simon—“

“I couldn’t even stay to mourn you. I had to leave. I had to get away before he found me again, before he finished whatever he was trying to do. Ebb, I’m so tired of running.”

“...Why don’t you stop?”

“I can’t. I can’t, Ebb. I can’t let him find me.”

“What will happen if he finds you?”

“He’ll try to...to fix me. I’m not broken, Ebb. Or I don’t think I am. But he thinks so. He made me the way I am, and it wasn’t enough, and he thinks he can fix it—I don’t want to be fixed, Ebb. I’ll just be his tool again. I’m so tired. Ebb, I’m so damn tired.”

“You’re not a thing to be used, Simon, you know that?”

“I think so. I—I learned that when you died. When Penny’s family took me in and hid me. I wanted that so badly. I thought I finally ran far enough, and I could be my own person, but I keep looking over my shoulder, I keep thinking about what I’ve done—Ebb, you died because of me.”

“That’s not true.”

“I watched it happen. Right in front of my eyes. He stepped right over your body. I couldn’t—“

“Shh, Simon.”

“Ebb—“

_ “Shhh.” _

***

_ // Day 16 _

Sometimes, the cache boxes held things that were decidedly not emergency supplies.

Often, Simon found a single pinecone tucked in the box’s corner. Many of them held battered paperback books; sometimes Simon would swipe one and return it to a different box when he was done with it. Every box had a map inside, with various notes and scribbles from past lookouts. Simon always copied these down, just in case he needed them. So far, he hadn’t.

That day he was exploring the northwestern part of his sector. He hadn’t had a reason to head out this way, but every few days he just needed to get out of the tower and wander around. The movement grounded him when his memories started to get the better of him; besides, surely it was a good thing to become familiar with the whole area he was responsible for. That’s what he thought, anyway.

He spotted the familiar yellow box just after noon, marked with the number 183. Popping open the lock—for some reason, all of them had the very basic passcode of 1234—he peered inside. There was a knot of rope and a carabiner, a first aid kit that looked awfully outdated, and another pinecone, this one holding down a few pieces of folded up paper.

Simon gingerly pulled them out. They’d yellowed on the edges, but otherwise were in good shape, so they couldn’t be that old. Unfolding them, they appeared to be letters. 

_ You know what I miss most when I’m out here?  _ The first letter began.  _ Iced tea. I’m serious. You can make the hot stuff all you want, but sticking it in the creek overnight to cool it down just isn’t the same as a glass of ice. It’s weird, the things you fixate on when you have a minute to think. Anyway, about your question—no, I can’t say I’ve actually seen a Bigfoot. Supposedly there have been sightings out here; I guess the big guy was getting tired of the Oregon hipsters. I have seen some weirdly large wolves, though. Hopefully they just want to be left alone and don’t have an appetite for Nebraskans. _

The letter was signed, emphasized by a ringed coffee stain,  _ Yours, Shep. _

Out of curiosity, Simon pulled out his radio. “Hey, you ever meet a guy named Shep out here?”

It was a minute or so before Baz responded. “Shep? Oh, from Omaha. Yeah, he was the lookout at Two Forks before you. He and I didn’t chat much.”

“Well, he clearly struck up conversations with other folks. Got a few letters here between him and somebody else. There’s a weird amount of discussion of mythical creatures.”

“Ah, that was it,” Baz said. “That’s why I avoided talking with him. He was convinced that I was a vampire and kept trying to get me to confess it.”

Simon snorted a laugh at the thought. “What gave him  _ that _ idea?”

“No clue. But the inane and cliche questions about it got old really fast.”

“Oh, so you’re not a  _ cliche _ vampire. Got it. I’ll be sure to only bother you with  _ original _ questions to get you to confess.”

“You are aware that I could murder you in your sleep?” Baz responded dryly.

“You’d have to leave your tower for that, now wouldn’t you?”

“Lucky for you.”

As Simon walked and Baz bickered, a spot of bright red on the horizon of greens and yellows caught Simon’s eye. He wandered closer to investigate, finding what appeared to be an abandoned campsite. The color that grabbed his notice was the burgundy canvas of a tent, cut to ribbons around a mangled metal frame. A bedsheet was tangled up in the wreckage, and Simon’s first thought was,  _ Wait a minute, is that mine? _

His second thought was to wonder what the hell had happened here. The letter’s mention of wolves ran on loop in his mind. “Uh, Baz? You’re sure there aren’t any bears around here, right? Or...other things with sharp claws?”

“Yes, I’m quite confident. Why, are you being chased by something?”

“No. I found a campsite that’s been torn all to hell and wanted to make sure I wasn’t about to die or something.”

Simon continued looking around. The sheet was, indeed, the one stolen from his cabin the weeks prior, and though a pillow and sleeping bag had been left behind, there were no other signs of violence here. Not finding any blood calmed Simon’s heart rate a little, but not by much. Around the campsite, various pieces of litter lay around, and with an exasperated sigh, he kicked an empty can.

“I’m thinking it’s those same girls we busted for fireworks earlier,” Simon relayed.

Baz’s answer was immediate. “What makes you think that?”

“Because there are empty beer cans scattered around that is the same terrible brand,” Simon replied. “And, would you look at that, the radio I threw in the lake.”

Upon closer inspection, it was indeed the same radio, but it had been disassembled, metal bits and bobs scattered around its husk. Simon didn’t know much about electronics, but he thought there should be more parts to it than what he was seeing. “Looks like they scalped it or something. A bunch of it’s gone, and everything left is the, uh, waterlogged bits.”

Baz was silent for a few minutes, though Simon could hear vague noises of paper shuffling on the other end of the line. What could be a muttered curse echoed in the background.

“Uh, Baz?”

“So we may have a problem.” More rustling, and the sound of a cup hitting a tabletop. “You didn’t get a good look at those girls at the lake, right? But you got their names.”

“Yeah. They signed their very angry note at the downed line.”

Baz sighed. “We got a missing persons report for two young women a few days ago,” he finally explained. “The names match. It could be a coincidence, but—“

“More likely than not, it’s them?”

“Yep. Which means, technically, you might be the last person who saw them before they disappeared.”

Simon stared at the wrecked campsite before him as a chill ran down his spine. “Shit,” he breathed.

“My sentiment exactly.”

Simon’s mind raced. On the one hand, of course he needed to speak up about it. Anything helps in this scenario, right? He needed to let the authorities know.

On the other hand, he came out here specifically to  _ not _ be found. Getting involved would ruin that, would draw unnecessary attention. Possibly dangerous attention.

“I haven’t called it in yet.”

Baz’s voice pulled Simon back to the present. “What?”

“I haven’t said anything about them being over here yet,” Baz repeated, his voice quiet. “You barely interacted with them, and it didn’t seem relevant at the time. Now…” he trailed off. “Now, I don’t know.”

Simon recalled an earlier conversation with Baz. Why they were both out here in the American wilderness to begin with…

_ Running as far away as possible, I suppose. There isn’t much of a reason to take this job otherwise. _

Simon was certainly running. And Baz seemed to be hiding from something, as well.

“I don’t like it,” Simon muttered. “Keeping quiet about it.” But he knew he wasn’t going to press Baz on this one.

“That’s not a no.”

“No, it’s not.”

Silence stretched between them.

“Well, Snow,” Baz finally said. “We’re just going to hope for the best, I suppose.”

Simon hoped it would be worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always for reading! All the wonderful comments and feedback have given me much joy. 
> 
> Find me on Twitter [@tealbrigade](http://www.twitter.com/tealbrigade/) or on tumblr at[ tea-brigade](http://www.tea-brigade.tumblr.com/) <3 
> 
> Also, [a playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/21eiUwxWeHmOs69T1oJz51?si=MAGya8BRR_qQqXiswixI8A).


	5. Light a Match

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stoking of multiple fires, some of which are literal. A barrier appears, and everyone's unhappy about it. The light at the end of a tunnel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up, y'all, this one's a doozy.

_ // Night 32 _

“...up. Wake up, Snow.”

“Nnnngh. What.”

“Good morning, sleeping beauty.”

“It’s the middle of the night, Baz, what the fuck?”

“Take a look out the window.”

Simon groaned and sat up, rubbing his eyes blearily. He cast his gaze around, and for a moment had absolutely no clue what Baz was talking about. Then he noticed a soft orange glow against the night sky, and his breath caught.

Fire.

“Oh, shit,” he breathed, but all he could do was stare.

“It’s an impressive one, huh.”

Baz was right. The fire was a long, thin line of embers across the darkened landscape, burning steadily. Watching it right now, in the dead of night, was captivating—like gazing into a bonfire and getting lost in the hypnotic push and pull of the flames, but on a much larger scale.

“I already called it in,” Baz said.

“So what do we do now?”

“Nothing. The fire brigade will go out and try to contain it. Our part’s done.”

“Huh.”

The two sat in companionable silence, watching. Simon assumed Baz was watching, and companionably silent, anyway. 

Baz broke the silence after a minute or two. “We’ll have to name it, you know.”

“Really now?”

“Yep. To differentiate them in the reports. I cede the honor to you; I’ve gotten to name a few in my days.”

“Huh.” Simon considered, and he tilted his head as he watched the fire. He was reminded of something Ebb had told him—her memory hurt just a little less out here in the wilderness. He assumed that was because it was her domain. She was never one for the stone halls of society. She was content with nature, and her goats, and some quiet.

Simon was beginning to see the appeal.

“What about...the Pitch fire?”

Baz was silent.

“Too weird?” Simon asked, suddenly self-conscious.

“Why that?” Baz said instead. His voice was quiet, curious, something that Simon couldn’t place.

“Oh. I was just thinking of a story I heard once. A few years ago, from a friend. The one who gave me the cross.”

“...yeah?”

“She’d talk about this one woman she really admired—a mage who could bend fire to her will. She was a leader, and strong, and though she was firm and strict, was also fair, and kind. A legend. Her surname was Pitch.” Belatedly, Simon realized he shouldn’t be blabbing about the World of Mages to this random lookout, even if that random lookout was now his friend. “At least, that’s the story my friend would tell.”

“That’s...that’s a lovely story.” Baz paused. “Pitch. I like it. It fits.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Silence fell once more. For a moment, Simon could almost pretend they were two mates, sitting by a campfire late at night, between deep conversations and enjoying each other’s company. 

Simon got up from his cot, still in his sleepwear, and walked out to the balcony that surrounded his cabin. In the middle of summer, the night was pleasant but still warm. On a whim, he grabbed one of the beers he’d confiscated from those girls all those weeks ago. He wasn’t usually one for drinking, but this occasion felt as good as any.

He winced as he swallowed the first sip. He’d already doubted the girls’ taste, but this stuff was pretty bad.

“Snow?”

“Yeah, Baz?”

“I have a confession to make.”

Simon paused. First, because Baz never seemed to make mistakes, much less apologize for them. Second, because his words weren’t quite as clipped and enunciated as Baz normally spoke. Simon wondered if perhaps he wasn’t the only one drinking tonight.

“What’s that?” He asked, keeping these thoughts to himself.

“It was...I don’t know, about a week after you got here? You radioed me in the middle of the night. I don’t think you knew you were talking to me. I, er…” Baz trailed off. 

Simon stilled, his eyes fixed on the fire burning in the distance. “Who was I talking to?”

Baz cleared his throat. “Someone named Ebb.”

The name was a knife to his heart, and for a moment the memories threatened to overwhelm him again. He took one deep breath, then another, then another, counting them out until he felt steady enough to speak again. “An old friend,” he told Baz softly, taking another drink. “She died a couple years ago.”

“Yeah, I know. Uh, I mean, I know now. I wanted to apologize. I shouldn’t have listened in on that conversation. That was personal.”

Simon shrugged, even though Baz couldn’t see it. “My therapist always said it was good to talk about those kinds of things. Part of why I lugged a typewriter out here. Something about getting the words out, like giving a wound a little air to breathe.”

“Personally, I’d rather keep all of my feelings right here inside me, and then one day I’ll die,” Baz said wryly.

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re not a therapist then, innit?”

That got a laugh out of Baz. It didn’t happen often, and Simon always smiled when he managed to make one happen. It made his insides flutter in a not altogether unpleasant way.

“I suppose so,” Baz replied, a smile lingering on the end of his words. 

Simon sipped the remains of his drink, grabbing another can and popping it open. “So,” he said to Baz, emboldened by the drinks or the atmosphere or some mix of both. “Did you find out anything embarrassing about me, then?”

“Embarrassing, no.” Baz sighed. “You said you were tired of running.”

Simon pulled his gaze from the fire and up to the sky. Stars littered the expanse, and out here, even the Milky Way was visible, a band of blues and purples and greens glowing on black velvet. “Said that, did I?” He murmured. “It’s true, I guess. Been running since Ebb died. Running, hiding. I kind of figured the Shoshone out here would be the last place I ran to.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well...a whole other country. Whole other  _ continent.  _ Out in the middle of nowhere, no communication with anyone outside. If this isn’t far enough…” Simon trailed off. “Nowhere is.”

Baz was silent, and Simon found the words spilling out of him.

“All my life, there was the expectation...I dunno. Something great, something world-changing. I never felt like that was me, but I didn’t really have anything else. And then everything went down, and Ebb died, and I just...I didn’t want all of that anymore. I just wanted to be normal. Unimportant. I just want to live, I guess. I’m realizing that all my life, I never really lived for myself. Always for someone else. Someone else who didn’t actually give a shit about  _ me,  _ just what I could do.”

Simon closed his eyes. “I like it out here. I’ve got one job to do. No other expectations. No one pressuring me to do more, be better. Just...me, and the forest, and that fire out there.”

The fire just burned, unconcerned.

“...you’re a good person, Simon.”

“Hah, you finally called me Simon.”

“And I immediately take it back.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Simon chuckled. “You’re a good person too, Baz. I wish...I wish we weren’t stuck with these radios.”

“Mm.” Maybe it was the radio static, but Baz’s voice sounded lower, rougher. “We could talk face to face. See each other. The things we could do.”

Simon closed his eyes, leaning on his elbows on the balcony’s railing. “What sort of things?”

“...let me tell you.”

***

_ // Day 38 _

The Pitch fire continued to burn. The fire brigade immediately deployed once Baz called it in, and they worked day and night to keep the flames at bay. For now, it wasn’t being especially problematic. But Simon couldn’t help but notice the trail of smoke permanently etched in the sky above it’s location, no matter how close or far he wandered from it.

Still, as the days wore on with no change, the potential threat of the fire was put from his mind by other challenges. For example: the fencing surrounding a chunk of his sector that he had no access to.

Simon stood on its perimeter, having found what appeared to be the singular entrance, locked though it was. “Any reason there’d be a fence just out here in the middle of nowhere?”

“Well,” Baz said slowly, “sure, the Forest Service puts up fences all the time to keep idiot tourists from falling off a cliff or wandering into a patch of cacti—“

“A giant chain link fence?”

“Chain link?” That got Baz’s attention. Simon had seen what he’d been talking about: the modest wooden fences that were standing disclaimers that  _ we warned you; go past here and we’re not liable for your untimely demise.  _ But this fence was tall and metal and clearly keeping something in as much as it was keeping tourists out. “No,” Baz went on, “I can’t say I know why  _ that _ would be there.”

Simon gave Baz the approximate location as he walked the perimeter once more, looking for an alternate entrance. “I dunno,” he was saying, “I can’t even tell what’s in there. Whatever it is must be pretty deep in; all I’m seeing are trees.”

“Huh. Think you could break in?”

“Now, Baz, just because we’re partners in crime does not mean I want to commit  _ actual _ crimes—“

“We  _ work  _ here, Snow. Technically, it’s our job to know what’s going on. You’ve got every right to break in there.”

“I feel like if it’s my right, I shouldn’t have to  _ break  _ in, but whatever.”

Ending back at the single gate entrance, Simon studied the padlock attached to it. The standard 1234 code didn’t work; neither did any other combination Simon could think up. He jostled the lock a few times, then kicked the gate as hard as he could. There were some rocks nearby that he attempted to use to smash the lock open to no avail.

“I’m gonna need something a little stronger to—“ He started to narrate to Baz, but a sound of leaves crunching behind him grabbed his attention, and Simon whirled around.

A figure disappeared into the brush, too quick for Simon to make out any details. Whoever they were, they had clearly been watching Simon attempt to get past this gate.

“We’ve got company, Baz,” Simon muttered, even as he was already taking off after the figure, mysterious fencing temporarily forgotten.

“What, another annoying tourist?”

“Nope. Well, maybe, I guess. But they were definitely watching me just now and bolted as soon as I noticed them.”

“Please tell me you’re not following them.”

“No can do,” Simon replied, eliciting a sigh from his counterpart over the radio.

The trail led Simon to a small rocky outcropping he’d passed a dozen times, but he saw the figure slip between some of the boulders that Simon had never investigated further. There must be a shortcut, or a cave, or some sort of path through there. Simon followed suit; as a precaution, he kept his finger locked over the radio’s talk button, and gave waypoints every now and then. If anything happened to him, Baz would know.

The thought gave Simon only a bit of comfort, but that was better than going in with nothing.

He slipped between the same boulders—it was a narrow fit, but doable—and found himself in a narrow opening that led deeper into darkness. Simon gulped, but needed to know who was watching him. If it really was an innocent tourist and Simon was just being paranoid, they could easily get lost down here, and it was his job to keep that from happening. And if it  _ wasn’t _ a tourist…

Simon kept walking.

He’d gone quite a ways before his eyes adjusted fully to the low light. It was a fairly straightforward path, just a few twists and turns around some stubborn rocks in the way. He thought he could see a bit of brighter light just up ahead; perhaps it was the other opening of the cave, and this was just an elaborate underground shortcut. Simon distantly thought that once he was out of here, he should mark it on his map.

He rounded the corner, and found himself with a chasm to his right and a blinding doorway outside ahead of him. In that doorway was the silhouette of a man, and Simon froze.

The man stepped forward, and Simon’s eyes widened in disbelief, in horror. He must have made a noise, because he heard Baz asking, “Snow, what’s going on?”

“You,” Simon breathed, and memory overlapped with reality, and it was  _ the Mage stepping over Ebb’s body, the Mage offering him a rare smile, the Mage sending him on another mission he might not survive— _

_ The Mage, _ walking toward him in a cave in America, his face set in a sad yet determined grimace.

“Snow?”

“Simon,” said the Mage, and Simon instinctively took a step back.

“Stay away from me,” Simon demanded, but his voice was wavering, and his hands were shaking, and he itched to hold a sword but he couldn’t summon it, not anymore,  _ not since— _

_ Since he’d saved the world. _

“Simon, it’s all right.” The Mage walked closer, and Simon backed up—but he’d forgotten about the drop, and his foot plunged through open air and he was falling. One of them screamed; maybe it was Simon himself. He hit the ground and pain shot through his body and he cried out.

“Snow, what’s happening? Are you alright?”

Simon looked up, dizzy and disoriented, and he saw that awful, familiar face set into a determined frown, and the maker of Simon’s nightmares disappear back over the ledge. 

“Simon?”

He needed to respond to Baz. He needed to...go after him? Run away? Simon groaned, but he couldn’t form any words. There was just so much pain. His head throbbed distractingly. He looked down; his leg— _ Christ, that was definitely a bone he saw— _

_ “Simon?!” _

Everything hurt, and the edges were getting fuzzy, and…

_ That telltale feeling of nothingness, the very essence being sucked out of him— _

Simon Snow slipped into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 😬😬😬
> 
> Come yell incoherently at me on Twitter [@tealbrigade](http://www.twitter.com/tealbrigade/) or on tumblr at[ tea-brigade](http://www.tea-brigade.tumblr.com/), I deserve it


End file.
